


Static

by TheWanderingAvarian



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, But there's no one there to deal with it so..., Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot, Persona 5 Protagonist probably has a Palace, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingAvarian/pseuds/TheWanderingAvarian
Summary: It's been six months since Akira left Tokyo to return to life in his hometown of Itoiyama. If 'life' is the right word for it.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Static

Nothing happens in Itoiyama. 

It’s a small fishing town with a few thousand people, which in summer becomes a few more thousand, before rapidly shrinking again at the first sign of winter. There’s not much crime, and the streets are quiet. There are three primary schools, two middle schools and one high school, and as a result of this dreadful planning, all of the children there know each other.

Everyone knows Akira Kurusu. Sort of, anyway. 

His criminal conviction was the most exciting thing that had happened there in some time, and it was the talk of the town—for a month or two anyway. Then everyone forgot about him. 

Until he came back. 

The rumour mill had started up again in earnest, but died down again equally quickly when it became apparent that his year in Tokyo hadn’t changed him at all. Some still whispered, but they were considered bores. 

Akira was, after all, a fairly unremarkable person. He went to school every day, and to the library straight after, though he’d never actually needed to study. On days when he wasn’t at school he was fishing, or swimming, or sat up in his room, in his house which was always empty. He didn’t cause trouble—in fact, he rarely spoke at all. That was the Akira that had left Itoiyama, and it was the exact same Akira that had come back. 

Unobtrusive. If anyone was forced to choose a word to encapsulate Akira Kurusu’s existence in the small town of Itoiyama, that was the one they would have chosen. Even his parents, who weren’t particularly charitable people, agreed on that as one of his more positive traits. 

Nothing happens in Itoiyama. 

He’d told them all that even before he left. No point visiting, nothing happens in Itoiyama. No point texting, nothing happens in Itoiyama. No point existing, nothing happens in Itoiyama. 

They’d made a valiant effort, of course. He’d had weekly updates of their hijinks without him; of Yusuke’s latest crazy art project, how Futaba was doing in her new school, the latest developments in Ann’s modelling career and so on. He’d given them all the appropriate responses; congratulations and advice and laughter. But bit by bit, week by week, the calls got later, and the texts got fewer. 

The thing was...he had nothing to say. What was there to say when your life was a routine that never varied? Get up, go to school, sit in class, go to the library, go home. Go fishing. Go swimming. Stay home. That was life. A grim parade of nothing and no one. Sometimes he went weeks at a time without speaking to anyone at all.

It was the 17th of September. 

No one had texted, called, or otherwise tried to interact with him in nearly two weeks. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in his real life in almost two months. He was beginning to suspect his parents might be trying to sell this house, because they hadn’t set foot in it more than twice in the seven months he’d been there. Not that he wanted them to make more regular visits, mind you, but he was beginning to fear that estate agents would pounce on him every time he stepped outside. 

It was Monday, and it was raining. 

He took the same route he took to school every day. Up the hill, past the apartment blocks and into the fancier residential area, on the cusp of which he heard the same argument he heard every two weeks or so, from the second-floor apartment of the building on the right, between Mr and Mrs Hagiwara. There was no actual screaming today, which was something, but not much. 

He’d said earlier that there were no criminals in Itoiyama. That wasn’t true. There were plenty of criminals in Itoiyama. Just none that anyone could be bothered to do anything about. 

He thought that day, as he’d thought on a lot of days since the 24th December 2016, that it was a shame he no longer had access to the Metaverse. He could have done a lot for Mrs Hagiwara if he could still use that place. But he couldn’t. 

As it so happened, Akira knew Mr Hagiwara’s routine quite well—mainly due to his volume, but also because one day he’d decided to follow him around (at a distance, of course) on a whim. First thing in the morning he’d shout at his wife for anything between one to two hours, then he’d go out to his job, finishing at six o’clock. From there he’d go to the bar and drink until eleven, before taking a leisurely wander back along the clifftops. Half the town hoped he’d stumble off them one day. 

Akira had thought of pushing him off seventy times since he’d returned home. Seventy-one, including today. 

It would at least alleviate the boredom. 

He arrived at school at eight o’clock. He attended every lesson, took notes he didn’t need, learnt calculations he already knew, and listened to people he didn’t care about. The end of the school day arrived and people shuffled out of the classroom to go and talk to their friends, or take part in the school clubs, or go back home. 

Traditionally Akira would take one of two choices: return home or go to the library. Different places, same boredom. 

He made his way out of the school, still pondering on what to do.

And eventually, he decided on neither. 

Adjusting the weight of his bag on his shoulder, he took a different path, out of the town. 

A few twists and turns took him from the built-up modern areas out into the trees which grew up tightly around them. From there it wasn’t long before the foliage fell away, and the clifftops extended out towards the horizon. He walked right up to the edge, then along and along, far out of town, to where a little path led down to the beach—used mostly by the fishermen to get better access to the sea. 

He stood at the top of the cliff. The sea thrashed far below. 

The rain was light and misty now, but still more than enough to conceal him from view. Not that anyone was going to walk out here anyway.

The wind blew cold through his hair. The chill stung his skin. He blinked. 

Nothing happens in Itoiyama. 

Nothing extended out before him; nothing but cold wind and empty air, and the rocks far below. Nothing made him put his bag down, brush his hair out of his face. Nothing made him step forward onto the very edge of the cliff-face, mere centimetres from falling. 

And as he stood, the nothingness expanded until he couldn’t feel his arms, or his hands, or his face, or his legs. 

There was no reason he should want to die. Nothing that should have taken him up to this cliff-top and have him pondering walking off it. Nothing was wrong with his life. Nothing was right with his life. And it was all...nothing, anyway. 

Nothing happens in Itoiyama. 

And nothing did. 

That day.


End file.
